8 o'clock sharp
by Lufthexe
Summary: Peggy prepares for a date with a man she knows may not show up, and tries to come to terms with the possibility of living without Steve.


It was five o'clock, but Peggy had been drinking since noon. Hoping to lower her expectations, maybe, or calm her emotions. The clock on the wall ticked somewhere between hope and agony. Sometimes time would jump an hour or two; other times the mere seconds would drag on. She wished she could break that damn device that ticked so incessantly, so she wouldn't have to stare at the eight mark anymore. Maybe it'd get better after tonight. Maybe tonight would bring closure. But she knew that probably wouldn't be the case. Ever since the radio had turned to static she had held herself together with this chance, this date. Please be there Steve please come don't be dead

She had tried on every dress in her closet, twice. Maybe to waste time, but more because she wanted to look perfect. She ended up settling with that red number she wore to the bar, the one he couldn't stop staring at. She wanted him to stare. She wanted him to dance with her and step on her feet and laugh awkwardly. She wanted to be the right partner.

Peggy needed to go shoot something. Or maybe have another drink. He'll show up he'll show up he'll show up—another drink, then.

It's six. The curling iron hissed against her hair, curling it perfectly into place. She tried to remain focused as she wrapped pieces of brown tresses around the steaming iron, but she ended up burning herself more than once, cursing violently each time and trying not to cry. It was only six and she was just doing her fucking hair and she can't even keep it together. Great.

What did she see in that scrawny kid from Brooklyn? Courage, she surmised. Determination, to be a soldier. To rescue his friend. To prove them all wrong.

6:45 pm

She only let herself think about him for a few seconds at a time, what he might look like when he walked through those doors. Beaten up and bruised, sure. Certainly tired and weary. But he'd still have that ineffable smile and those baby blue eyes that would light up when he talked about Brooklyn or when he drew something in his sketchbook. And he would be alive. Dancing with her, laughing with her; he'd be alive.

Sitting at the small kitchen table in her apartment, Peggy stared at the clock that read 7:05. Legs jittery and hands trembling slightly, she had lost count of how many drink she'd had, how many tears she'd unwillingly shed. However, the buzz of liquor in her head did nothing to slow her thoughts as it usually might have. Of course, now she would probably be less coordinated, she thought, laughing bitterly. She had a date to teach Steve to _dance, _and she wasn't even sure if she could walk in a straight line. Bloody perfect. The trembling in her hands remained as she finished off her tumbler of scotch. It wasn't just the alcohol.

Peggy waited; she didn't want to get to the club too early, didn't want to seem too anxious. Didn't want to be desperate for Steve just to show up.

7:16 pm

7:17 pm

Peggy finally got up to leave, grabbing her purse and going out onto the street to hail a cab. She tried to relax, to not bounce on her heels as she waited for the car to pull over, tried not to let her fake smile look too much like a grimace on her perfectly rouged lips. The cab ride was silent, as the feeble attempt the cab driver makes at asking about her plans for the night are cut short by a withering glance in his rearview mirror. The Stork Club was only a few miles down the road, in the heart of New York. It didn't give Peggy much time to collect her thoughts and prepare herself.

It was 7:32 by the time they arrived. The club was rather empty, as it was still early in the night. Peggy took a seat at the bar, angling herself so she could watch the door. She refrained from having another drink, not wanting to reek of alcohol and weakness when Steve finally showed. And he would show.

The night progressed, and the darker the skyline became, the more the club crowded with people. Peggy struggled to see the door, her nerves shot from the chime that clanged every time the door would swing open to reveal new revelers. She regretted her choice of the Stork Club now, as she longed for some place smaller, more intimate, and not so full of life.

Peggy was asked to dance no less than four times, and while she usually might have smiled coyly and politely declined (or perhaps accepted), now her response was a more somber "I'm waiting for the right partner." She no longer relished the flustered embarrassment that would show on their faces, as it reminded her of the way Steve had looked when he had asked so innocently if she and Howard Stark were…'fonduing'. The memory caused a pain in her chest, jolting her back from her memories to the boisterous club, where the clock read 7:53. It was almost time! She berated herself for getting so caught up in her own thoughts. Peggy took the compact out of her purse, checking her lipstick again and snapping it closed quickly. Now was not the time to be vain. Steve…was coming. He would show, and they'd get their dance. She was the right partner, right?

The clock had surely slowed down. There was no way only one minute had passed.

At 7:56, when the band picked up, Peggy nearly fell from her stool. She had been so intent on the door that everything else had been blocked out, save for that damn door chime.

Her heart was pounding louder and louder in her ears as the seconds trickled by. She tried to block out the doubts, but it was hard when she had been there to hear the radio go dead, the static filling the air with its awful cacophony. And now, she had to be strong just a little bit longer. They had a date. He'd make it.

7:59 was perhaps the most terrifying moment of Peggy's life. Fight Hydra soldiers? No problem. Fly into heavily armed enemy lines? Just part of the job. But waiting for Steve to show up, when his plane had crashed and they hadn't found the wreckage and all there had been was static—that took all the strength Peggy had to stay seated and not bolt out onto the street, searching for a taxi or a motorbike she knew probably wouldn't come. It was almost enough to break her.

And then it was 8:00 p.m.

It's funny how slow time had crawled before; now it sped by. Every second that ticked by was another blow to her heart, and Peggy could feel herself slipping. Slipping further and further away from hope, away from the date she wanted more than anything, away from the right dance partner and the only man who had captured her heart so effortlessly.

She willed back the tears, trying to convince herself that he was simply late. Hell, he had crashed into ice. Surely she could let him be five minutes late. So when the clocked ticked to 8:01, Peggy bit back a sob, and kept her face blank. She would not weep, not when Steve was surely parking his bike outside, and would rush through that door with a thousand apologies and a boyish grin. So she focused on that thought as the night went on, when it became 8:11 and there was still no Steve, and when 8:43 snuck up and still no Steve.

At that point, the drinks started again. Quickly, as the bartender must have seen the way she had waited all night staring silently at the door, and left the bottle for her. No one dared come up to her when the tears finally did start flowing at 10:22. It hit her like a wall, the final realization that Steve wasn't coming, wasn't going to show up and whisk her off her feet. She cursed herself for being so damn naïve, so stupid, so foolish to fall for a man who would run and throw himself on a grenade for his fellow soldiers. The type of man who would sacrifice everything he was simply to save one other life. There was no point denying what she knew non to be true, and she mourned for him, her tears falling freely and her mascara streaking down her face. She mourned for the Brooklyn boy who would never have a chance to dance, and to find the right partner.

At last call, the bartender helped Agent Carter to the taxi he had called for her, and she sat silently in the backseat, looking forlornly at the club that should have been a start, a beginning, a date, a dance, a new life. At everything she and Steve had both lost. And she wept.


End file.
